


Hana-chan

by glassteacup



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cute, M/M, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassteacup/pseuds/glassteacup
Summary: Viktor and Yuuri are partnering up for a high school home economics project!“Yuuuuri~”It's a generous three second warning - just enough time to catch sight of a blur of silver hair.Yuuri yelps and braces himself for the impact but it's a futile exercise. Viktor is all lean muscle and sweet intentions. In short order, Yuuri falls victim to Viktor's flying tackle, flattened against the top of his desk with the air punched out of his lungs.





	1. Chapter 1

“Yuuuuri~” 

It's a generous three second warning - just enough time to catch sight of a blur of silver hair. 

Yuuri yelps and braces himself for the impact but it's a futile exercise. Viktor is all lean muscle and sweet intentions. In short order, Yuuri falls victim to Viktor's flying tackle, flattened against the top of his desk with the air punched out of his lungs. 

Yuuri flails his arms weakly, slapping his desk in the universal sign for tapping out. “Off,” he wheezes. 

The weight on his back is lifted. He sucks in a deep breath of air and turns his head to glare at Viktor. There's a blush of repentance on Viktor's cheeks. Cute. Viktor has some shame left. 

Viktor gives him a smile that wobbles at the corners and pats him on the back gingerly. “You okay?”

Yuuri nods and sucks in another lungful of air. He tolerates another five seconds of pets before sitting up and shrugging off Viktor's hand. 

“Let's be partners!” Viktor chirps. 

Yuuri squints and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Viktor's teeth are unfairly white. “Did you switch your toothpaste?”

“What?” Viktor wrinkles his nose and tilts his head to the side, bangs falling across his eyes. 

Yuuri curls his hands into fists, fighting the urge to tuck Viktor's hair behind his ears. It's not like they're still in kindergarten art class with Viktor whining for help as long strands of his hair hang dangerously close to the mason jars of gloopy paint. 

They're in senior year of high school for goodness sakes. A familiar ache in his chest starts throbbing; he pushes it away and forces himself to focus on the present. 

“Your teeth,” Yuuri says. “They're very bright. Are you using a new toothpaste?”

Viktor tosses his head back, hair falling neatly into place. The corners of his mouth turn up in a wide grin, showing his teeth off to full effect. “Maybe that's a secret. It tastes pretty good too.” He punctuates this last bit with a broad wink. 

Yuuri laughs and gives him a light shove. “Don't be silly. Who would want to eat toothpaste?” 

“You'd be surprised,” Viktor says with a pout. 

He ignores Viktor's nonsensical rambling and makes a mental note to check the toothpaste brand for himself the next time he is over at the Nikiforov’s apartment. “Don't you want to work with Chris? I was gonna ask Phichit if he wants to partner up.” 

“Too late,” Viktor reports, pointing to the side.

Yuuri follows the direction of his finger and finds Phichit glued to Seung-gil, the new transfer student. To the right of them, Chris is hanging off of his crush Masumi, leaning in to whisper in his ear. 

Yuuri clicks his tongue. “I can't believe they’re using this project as an excuse to flirt,” he grumbles. “I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

It's his miscalculation. He didn't realize Ms. Baranovskaya would announce the project so early. He should've gotten Phichit to agree in advance to partner up.

Viktor makes a strange squawking noise, not unlike a dying chicken. 

Yuuri whips his head back to Viktor, eyes growing wide in alarm. Viktor's face - or what he can see of it - is beet red and he's coughing into his elbow. “Are you okay? Do you need water?” 

Yuuri snatches up his water bottle and shoves it at him. Viktor grabs it and fumbles with the cap for three heart stopping seconds before successfully twisting it off. Viktor takes several gulps in quick succession. Yuuri holds onto the bottom of bottle to steady it. 

Viktor lowers the bottle, swiping his lips against the back of his hand and takes a deep breath. “I'm fine. Accidentally swallowed my gum.”

“Ahah,” Yuuri says with petty satisfaction. He makes grabby hands for the bottle and Viktor hands it over. Yuuri takes several generous swigs and feels the spike of panic fading away. Between the two of them, the previously full bottle only has an inch of water left. He recaps it and sets it back on the desk. “Serves you right for keeping secrets. You're a terrible best friend.”

Viktor snorts and makes a face, the very picture of inelegance. 

All of the underclassmen who swoon over the _handsome prince_ of Eastbrook High have little to no concept of Viktor's true self. 

He is indeed easy on the eyes with his shiny silver hair and killer abs - the result of extensive workouts on and off the ice as the captain of the hockey team. But he's nobody's pretty, dumb jock. His grade point average is impressive with his horde of academic awards almost as extensive as his collection of athletic medals and trophies. 

Viktor is charming, athletic, and brainy. And as if that isn't enough to have every college recruiter within a 200 mile radius drooling to snatch him up, there is a bonus cherry on top of the attractive package. Viktor is the son of a Russian diplomat with a silver tongue for languages. He's fluent in Russian, English, and French with a working knowledge of another heaping handful. 

Oh. And Viktor Nikiforov is a huge dork and a major homebody bookworm. 

The loud rapping of the ruler against the metal rim of the blackboard has the whole class snapping their attention to the front of the room and scrambling for a chair. 

Yuuri corrects his slouch and throws back his shoulders. Even Minako-sensei would be satisfied with his posture. Viktor drops down into the seat next to him. 

Ms. Baranovskaya is strict but fair with exacting standards. Rumor has it that before she became a high school home economics teacher, she ghost wrote several national magazine columns on manners and etiquette. 

She is also infamous for her beast of a final project. In all other classes, teachers have long thrown in their towels against the fight to senioritis by the time spring semester rolls around. She alone perseveres in a semester-long, multidisciplinary capstone. At this point, it's practically a rite of passage to complete and a badge of honor to ace her capstone. 

The student pair earning the top grade for the project receive coveted cupcakes as their reward - fluffy golden wonders handmade by Ms. Baranovskaya herself with perfectly piped buttercream chocolate frosting. And, of course, endless bragging rights. 

Ms. Baranovskaya surveys her domain with a sweep of eyes across the classroom. “It looks like you have all identified partners without loss of life or limb,” she says dryly. “We’ll proceed to picking lots to determine the order for selecting.”

Under her instructions, each pair scribbles their names on a slip of paper and folds it up before passing it to the front of the room. Ms. Baranovskaya sweeps all the papers into a jar and swirls the collection around with her hand. 

A quiver of anxiety slides down Yuuri’s spine. He has terrible luck. 

One by one, each pair gets called to the front of the classroom and examines the options in the bin before making their selection and returning to their seats. 

Yuuri cuts his eyes to Viktor. Ms. Baranovskaya’s jar is emptying rapidly. 

Viktor reaches across the aisle and squeezes his hand. Yuuri focuses on the feeling of Viktor's touch. It's solid and familiar. Warm and safe. 

Finally, it's down to the last two pieces of paper in the jar. Yuuri squints. From this distance, it's impossible to guess which of the two is the one he scribbled on. 

Ms. Baranovskaya pulls out a slip. “Isabella and Jean-Jacques,” she announces. 

The pair walk to the front, hand in hand, and have a quick discussion over the bin that ends with JJ picking up a small package. It fits easily in the palm of one hand.

Yuuri bites back a sigh. His bad luck is in fine form today. They're dead last to pick. As Ms. Baranovskaya is reading out their names, Viktor grabs hold of Yuuri’s hand even tighter and drags him to the front of the room.

There is one package left tucked in the corner of the giant bin. It looks forlorn and neglected with a smudge of dirt along the side. 

It's an ordinary 5 pound bag of all purpose unbleached flour without even a recognizable brand name to distinguish it or add flair. It's store brand - Quality Foods Gold Medal Flour - and everything about it screams generic and tryhard from the plain font and tacky yellow emblem to the bold assurances plastered across the front that the taste is comparable to name brands and perfect for all baking needs. 

Viktor squeezes his hand before letting go and picks the bag up with both hands, tucking it protectively against his chest.

Yuuri can feel some of his misgivings melt away to be replaced by determination. So what if they got _the_ most boring choice by default after all the other groups called dibs on the fancier options. 

Competitive is his middle name and Viktor is no slouch in a fight either. They're going to make this work and win.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first assignment!

Yuuri hangs his jacket up on a hook in the entranceway and toes off his shoes and socks, tucking them into his customary slot in the shoe rack. Next to him, Viktor does the same. Makkachin supervises the proceedings, tail wagging faster at each passing second. He leans over to give the dog some scritches behind his ears. “Hi, sweetie.”

Makkachin noses him impatiently, tongue darting out to lick Yuuri's hand. 

Yuuri sits down in a hurry. Makkachin promptly launches a cuddle offensive, darting in between his spread legs and paws landing softly on his chest with a familiar thump. It’s an exuberant bad habit that was adorable when Makka was a puppy. It’s a bit dangerous now that the poodle doesn’t know his full strength at 65 pounds but he only ever reacts this way with Viktor and Yuuri - and neither of them have the heart or desire to train him out of it.

Yuuri falls on his back under the attack and wraps his arms around the poodle for a hug. “Makka~” he croons. “I know, love. I missed you so much too.” He buries his face against Makka’s fur. It's been three days since he saw Makkachin. Really, that’s practically an eternity. 

Viktor settles down on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. “Should we have a doggy playdate this weekend?” 

Yuuri digs his phone out of his pocket and thumbs over to his calendar. “Sorry, I’m on prep and dinner shift at the diner for Saturday and Sunday. Mari will kill me if I skip out.”

“I'll drop by with Makka on Saturday,” Viktor suggests. “I bet he misses Vicchan too.”

“Sounds good,” Yuuri says. It’s one bright light in his weekend. He nudges Makka off and stands up, brushing dust and dog hair off his jeans. He slings his bookbag over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Makka,” he coos. 

Makkachin sticks close to his side as they head down the hallway to Viktor's bedroom. 

Viktor trails behind. “Do you want a drink or a s-n-a-c-k?” he calls out. 

“Sure,” Yuuri says. He pushes open Viktor’s bedroom door and flops down on the bed, pulling a pillow out from behind him to prop against the headrest as a cushion. 

Makkachin climbs up his wooden step ladder against the side of the bed and settles in a sprawl over Yuuri's legs in a shameless bid for more attention. 

Yuuri is nothing but a sucker for pampering Makkachin. He slides his hands in deep through his fur, giving him slow belly rubs. Makkachin relaxes completely and Yuuri can feel his thoughts drifting to his mountain of homework, dreading the thought of tackling it. 

He misses Viktor entering the room until a can of seltzer is stuck under his nose, the straw bobbing up and down as the bubbles make inviting fizzing noises. 

“Thanks.” Yuuri frees one hand from Makkachin’s fur and accepts.

“You're welcome,” Viktor chirps. “Hold this?” He hands him a plate of cheese and ham as he steps onto the bed and over Yuuri’s legs. He settles down on the far side of the bed. 

Yuuri sets the plate down in between them. Makkachin lifts his head, sniffing the air with interest. He hastily picks the plate up and hands it to Viktor. “Put it on your side. Makka is starting to drool.”

Makkachin snuffles and alternates between giving Yuuri and Viktor sad puppy eyes. In most matters, it's usually a failsafe tactic. Both Yuuri and Viktor see it as their solemn duty as dog lovers to spoil Makkachin.

“No, Makka,” Viktor says firmly. “Human food is not doggy food.”

Makkachin gives a short whine of disgruntlement and flops down again, ears drooping.

Yuuri offers him comforting belly rubs. 

“No fair,” Viktor says. “I'm always bad cop with Makka.”

“You have more practice with it,” Yuuri counters pragmatically. “Plus, one of us has to cheer Makka up so that he’s not sad.”

Viktor makes a grumpy noise. “Okay, point.”

Viktor's mouth is puckered up like he ate a lemon instead of a cube of cheese. Yuuri graciously does not giggle. He tosses his bookbag at him. “Let's get started. I have a ton of math homework tonight too.”

Viktor unzips the bag and pulls out Yuuri's laptop and his folder. 

“The home ec packet is in the back of the left side,” Yuuri says. 

Viktor riffles through the folder and pulls it out. “Did you get a chance to read through the first assignment yet?” 

“Not yet. You?”

Viktor shakes his head. 

“Let's read it together.”

Viktor scoots closer, resting the assignment packet on his thigh. 

Yuuri skims the first page. Most of it is a reiteration of the rules that Ms. Baranovskaya reviewed during class. 

The main points are simple - safety of the flour babies is paramount for successful completion of the project and the flour babies need to be with at least one of the partners at all times until the conclusion of the project at the end of the semester. 

To ensure compliance, each flour baby has Ms. Baranovskaya’s signature across the top and bottom flaps. And to practice vigilance and live the motto of it takes a village to raise a child, classmates are strongly encouraged to inquire after the well-being of other flour babies. In other words, narking on each other for lapses in the rules is acceptable to get ahead. 

Viktor taps the paper. “Ready to flip?”

“Yep.” 

Viktor turns the page and sets the packet on his lap again. 

The first assignment is brief. They simply need to agree on a name. 

Yuuri sips at his seltzer. “Do you have anything in mind?” He’s going to have at least three dogs when he grows up. He has a whole list of names picked out for all of his future doggies. He’s never considered naming anything else. 

Viktor hums in thought. “When my aunt was pregnant, she and her wife had a few names in mind. They couldn’t decide so they waited until my cousin was born to see what would fit best.”

Yuuri bites his lower lip. “Okay. So make a list of top contenders and go from there.” It is a bit murky what the _there_ part of this particular equation would equal. It isn't like they are waiting around for their flour baby to be born.

Viktor nods. “Yep, that's the general idea. By the way, how do you say flour in Japanese?”

Makkachin nuzzles Yuuri’s leg and gives him a mournful look. Yuuri obligingly resumes belly rub duty. “Hana.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Isn't that nose?”

“Wait, sorry.” Yuuri laughs. “I got distracted. You're right. Hana is nose but it's also a homophone for flower. The roses and daffodils kind of flower, not baking flour.”

Viktor takes his word vomit in without so much as a blink. “Okay, got it. What's baking flour then?”

Yuuri pauses to think. “Well, we have chuurikiko - all purpose flour.” 

Viktor’s lips move soundlessly as he repeats the word several times in succession. “Hand me my notebook?”

Yuuri leans over and plucks the well-worn slim leather volume from the bedside table. Viktor accepts the book and flips to his last entry, jotting down the new nuggets of information. 

Viktor's notebooks are a wonder. Every line is a new vocabulary word. And there's no rhyme or reason to the order with various languages mixed in on the same page. But it's a controlled chaos that Viktor has perfected since he was a kid. He's a sponge for languages. 

“Hana is a lovely name,” Viktor says. He hands the book back to Yuuri. 

“But that’s confusing.” He holds the book steady against his thigh to add the kanji for the new vocabulary words for Viktor. “And our flour isn’t even traditionally Japanese,” Yuuri adds. He stops short, pen frozen on the page. He was just not about to argue against the absurdity and proper naming protocol for a bag of flour. 

Viktor grins with the self-assurance of a man who knows he has won not only the battle, but the war. “Hana-chan just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?” he chirps. 

Yuuri caves. Okay. It’s pretty cute. And a dumb pun. But it’s _their_ dumb pun and multilingual to boot so maybe that actually makes it an intellectual, smart pun. “Hana-chan it is,” he says. 

Viktor clasps his hands together and beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awesome pun is awesome :D;;;

**Author's Note:**

> high school AU + baby AU = Viktuuri have a flour baby. Yay!
> 
> Surprised by the project :D? I don't like to give too much away from tags or previews :D;;
> 
> I'm really excited about this fic! Tags and rating will be updated as I go along.


End file.
